Adrift
by steelcrash
Summary: Steve Rogers joins a fight he never imagined. Crossover with "Supernatural."


Adrift

Disclaimer: I don't own "Supernatural," "The Avengers," or any of the characters from either. They belong to, respectively, Warner Bros., The CW, Marvel and Disney.

It's hotter than hell outside despite being late in the evening, and not even the air conditioning inside the road house can cool down the place. Taking a pull off his beer, Dean Winchester looks around room with a look of disgust on his face. Tonight's a good a night as any to take his chances. The clientele doesn't know he's a hunter, but he's not about to let them in on the secret yet. He needs information, and he'll get it one way or another. And he can't help but notice the hulking blond over at the bar, hunched over his beer, ignoring everyone. Looks normal enough, a little too clean-cut for the joint, and Dean's wishing he'd clear out. He's not getting the not-normal vibe from the guy, so he leaves him alone.

Then the fun starts. Dean doesn't mean for the evening's events to begin in such a manner, but he'll take fight. Maybe he can rough up someone enough to get something out of them he needs, but a few minutes in he knows he's in over his head. He's slammed into a wall and two of the bar's non-human clientele are suddenly having a conversation about who gets the first bite.

As he's trying to ignore the two vampires, he looks past them at the blonde man who is now shoving his way through the crowd. Dean watches as one vampire breaks a pool cue over blondie's head, and he responded by balling a fist and smashing it into the other man's face, not flinching at the sound of crunching bones and cartilage and the spray of blood from the broken face. He fights his way through, managing to get a hand on Dean.

A few minutes later, when the bar is on fire, and Dean's dragged blondie outside, he lets him have it.

"Moron. What the hell were you thinking? Those were vampires, you jackass. What the hell were you doing here anyway?"

"None of your damn business," the other man said. "Wait. Did you say vampires?"

"Yes, vampires," Dean said. "Are you deaf?"

"You're crazy."

"I'm not crazy," Dean said. "We need to get out of here."

"Can you give me a ride?" the other man asked.

"Don't you have a car of your own or something?"

"My motorcycle was stolen."

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course. "Come with me."

Two hours later, they're in Beaumont, and Dean can't get rid of the other guy fast enough.

"I can drop you wherever," Dean offered. "By the way, thanks for the help back there."

"You're welcome," he replied. "What's your name?"

Dean sighed. Great. Now came the making friends part. He only wanted to get rid of his passenger and get as far from Texas as possible.

"Dean Winchester," he said.

"I'm Steve Rogers," his passenger said, offering a hand.

Dean shook the proffered hand. "Look, I've gotta get going. . ."

"You need patched up," Steve said.

"I'll heal," Dean said.

"Vampires. Really. That the best you can come up with?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, seriously. Vampires. As in real, fanged, blood-sucking undead," Dean said. "They do exist. Hell. Didn't you see the craziness in New York back during the summer? Aliens. They exist, too," Dean said. "Along with faeries, werewolves, and gods."

"There's only one God," Steve said.

Oh hell. Cas would love this guy, Dean mused. Ah, Cas. Someone he really needed to see.

"Whatever," Dean said. "Get out of my car."

"We should go to the police. People probably died back there," Steve said.

"Yeah, they more than likely died, and they were not people," Dean said. "Deny what you saw back there, but I'm not going to the cops. Get the hell out of my car before I throw you out."

Steve let himself out of the car. As soon as the passenger door was shut, Dean left him standing by the side of the road.

88888

Two days later in Stillwater, Dean's in a little diner in Stillwater, Okla. Shortcake's is open all night, and he's sitting in a corner booth, his coffee cold and untouched as he flips through his father's journal. Nothing in it helps. Usually just touching the book gives him a sense of calm, that everything will be all right. But it's not all right, and hasn't been in almost two months. Sam is missing, and nothing can explain _why_. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Cas, none of them can offer him anything besides their sympathy. Sam's gone, and no one, not even a damn angel has a clue. And every damn night, he prays to a god who's probably not listening and doesn't care anyway. At this point, he's way past desperate, and not even the demons he's questioned are any help.

Even more frightening is the fact he's been approached by more than one saying they don't know where his brother is, or what's happened, and they can't help him, so no, don't even bother trying to torture it out of one of them. Trying to sell his soul (again) to a crossroads demon to get Sammy back has been pointless. They would help if they could, but getting pity from a demon is more than even he can handle. Heaven and hell can't help him, so what's left?

Shutting the journal and slipping it inside his jacket pocket, he throws down more than enough to cover his coffee. He starts to slide out of his booth when he sees a familiar face settling in at the bar. It's blondie from Texas. Dean hopes he can sneak by, get in the Impala and get the hell out of town, but he has no such luck. Blondie grabs a handful of his jacket, hauling him outside.

"What a coincidence," Dean said, trying to twist out of the bigger man's grip.

"Not a coincidence," Steve said. "I've been following your path of destruction across two states. That and the car is easy to find. Not a lot like it around, apparently."

"Why are you looking for me?" Dean asked.

"I know a man with a death wish when I see one."


End file.
